" He rose for fear she might touch him again. Only a book detective could dope this out. . ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. "I yield to fate. Only the next of kin. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly.
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